Pale Horse
by DebC75
Summary: What if Duncan MacLeod had been a girl, rather than a boy? This story speculates how the evensts of Comes a Horseman would be different if he were a she.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Pale Horse

Author: DebC

Fandom: Highlander: the Series

Keywords: genderbender, AU, female!Duncan

Paring: Danae/Methos (Danae is the genderbent!Duncan)

Summary: Essentially? "Comes a Horseman" is Duncan were female and Cassandra never existed.

Author's Notes: A huge thank you to Azar and Angelsgracie for the support, brainstorming the picking of muses brains. It really helped and will continue to help in the days o come. Especially since I couldn't find a decent name for her! An even huger "thank you" to Medie for inspiring the idea in the first place. I hope Danae meets with your approval.

Written for "Medie" as a Christmas WIP. There will be more.

"Pale Horse"

There was a time when hot water and thick white bubbles could undo any ailment under the sun. Danae remembered that time as well as she did anything else in her nearly five hundred years of living on this earth. 'Bubble baths,' she'd told one of her husbands once, 'are gifts from heaven itself.' They eased sore muscles, relaxed, soothed... especially with the right herbs, oils or champagnes added to the mix. And candles. Definitely candles.

She often employed any combination of these with her bubbles after a fight with another Immortal. Playing the Game -- especially when she won -- was a stressful ordeal and she liked her down time to be pleasant. So it was no surprise that just hours after her confrontation with Melvin Koren was interrupted, Danae was soaking in her bathtub.

Of course, her bubbles had already melted and the water was no longer hot.

Neither was she particularly relaxed, as Koren was not someone she'd expected to run into again. The last time she'd seen him was 1867, when she was a saloon girl in Agua Dulce and Koren was the leader of a band of cutthroats. He'd come after her, only to be shot down by the Texas Rangers.

That he was back now filled her body tension that not even a heavenly bubble bath could relieve. Perhaps a good work out instead...

Rising from the tub, she reached for her towel and was just wrapping it around her body when the sensation of an approaching Immortal slapped her with all its force.

Securing the towel in a knot under her arm, Danae raised her sword and left the bathroom, announcing loudly, "Whoever you are, you have me at a disadvantage."

"Oh, I wouldn't call it that," an all-too-familiar voice replied from behind her open refrigerator door. Methos soon followed, holding a beer -- her beer -- in his hand. He looked her over with a lascivious expression on his face and grinned. "I'd think you could disarm quite a few men with that get up."

"You bastard!" Danae shot back, scowling at him for good measure before putting away her sword.

"You love me," he quipped and followed her into the bedroom.

"Sometimes I wonder why," was her reply. She went to her wardrobe and busied herself by ignoring him as she found something to wear.

"Naturally, it's because I'm so adorable." Methos walked over to the bed where she'd tossed the clothes she intended to wear and picked up the plain white undergarments. Tossing them aside with an impudent grin, he walked over to her dresser and rooted around until he pulled out something in black lace. "Wear this instead," he told her.

"I was heading to the dojo to work out," she told him.

"So?"

"I can't work out in those!" They'd ride up in places she'd rather not mention.

"C'mon, Highlander! Live a little!" Methos teased, and she knew he was teasing now because he could.

"I've lived plenty, you old fossil," she told him, finding it difficult to sound exasperated when he was grinning at her like that.

"Sticks and stones," he retorted and stepped towards her.

"Sometimes I'd like to break you bo--" the comeback was interrupted somewhat by his hands grasping the sides of her face and his lips crushing down hers with deliciously ferocity.

And that was one of the reason she loved him, Danae thought briefly before he pulled her down onto the bed for a very different kind of work out.


	2. Chapter 2

Methos exited the building, his backpack in his hand. He was about to sling it over his shoulder when he felt the approach of another Immortal. It was probably Danae, he thought, so he called out her name, and then added "MacLeod?" when she didn't show herself. His query sounded less confident, even to his own ears.

He turned slightly, looking around, and hoping it wasn't the Immortal Danae had tangled with earlier. His expression went from warily to shocked in a matter of seconds, as a knife suddenly embedded itself in his chest. He hadn't heard the blade, but he felt sure enough. Cold steel and sharp pain.

The owner of the knife -- another surprise -- stepped forward, smiling at him. "Greetings, brother."

"Kronos." The word choked in his throat, only escaping with Methos's last breath and he fell to the ground. Kronos' grinning, malevolent face was the last thing Methos saw before darkness took him, mouthing words Methos could no long hear.

Methos awoke sometime later, feeling groggy and sore. He looked around and found himself to be in what looked like some sort of old power plant. It was dingy, at any rate. As he assessed his situation, Kronos approached carrying a hook and chain. They look heavy and Methos hoped they weren't for him. He couldn't imagine what Kronos wanted with him, but he knew it wouldn't be pleasant.

"Been a long time," Kronos said. "How are you feeling?"

Methos coughed, found his speech and answered, "Like I left my heart in San Fransisco."

"I didn't know you had a heart. Does it hurt?"

"What do you think?" was Methos's caustic reply, and he rolled over in an attempt to get up.

"Since you ask?" Kronos knelt and pushed Methos onto his back again. "I think you're not used to pain, brother. What's happened, you got soft!"

"I just passed through my angry adolescence a little quicker than you, Kronos," Methos shot back angrily. It probably wasn't a good idea to antagonize his former 'brother' but it was what they'd always done. Kronos would expect that much.

And overlook it. "For a long time I thought you were dead. I didn't even bother looking for you."

Could you go back to not looking, Methos thought as he tried one more time to get up. Kronos didn't stop him, this time, and continued speaking. He always had loved the sound of his own voice.

"Then I started hearing the strangest things... talk of the 'worlds oldest man' going around talking about peace and an end to the Game." Here he laughed, a cold and heartless sound. Methos laughed with him, though his was hollow. Even though it had been an imposter, the rumors had led Kronos to him. Kronos stopped laughing suddenly and glared. "You slipped up there, old friend. You got sloppy."

"Well, we're none of us perfect," Methos answered, almost modestly.

Kronos' eyes narrowed and scowled, but that was all the consideration he gave Methos' flippant response. "I shouldn't be surprised you're still alive," he went on. "You were always the one I counted on. You weren't the strongest or the toughest, but you were the survivor. It's what you do best. Or did."

Or did, now that sounded promising, Methos thought. He wondered what Kronos was up to. He wondered how he was going to stop him once he found out. Or if he could at all. "So you've come to kill me."

Kronos sat down next to him. "It's what I do best!" he said, cheerful. "But you do have a choice."

"Oh, I'm all for choices." Kronos was right about one thing; Methos was a survivor. And he didn't get that way by being an idiot. He'd play Kronos for as long as he could, hear his 'choice' (although he feared he knew what it was) and then make a run for it if he could.

Kronos' face took on a menacing smile. "Join me, brother. Or die."

"Since you put it that way . . ." Methos answered, drawing out his decision while his raced. He didn't like Kronos' tone of voice. He knew it all too well; it spelled trouble in more ways than one. And for a lot of people. Methos didn't want to join up with Kronos, not by along shot. He was tired of that life, had thought he'd left it behind centuries ago. He was out of practice, despite Danae's best attempts to keep him in training. Danae... what if Kronos had been the Immortal who'd gotten Danae so worked up earlier? He had to find out... and that meant letting Kronos believe they were on the same side. "Welcome back, brother."


	3. Chapter 3

Danae was in her office at the dojo, pacing as she flipped through an old book. Her mind was only half on what she was reading, however. She'd call Joe earlier that afternoon, and had asked him to send over anything he could about the Immortal named Melvin Koren. Mostly, Danae wanted to know where he'd been since Agua Dulce, who he'd beheaded... how hard he would be to actually beat.

Feeling the presence of another Immortal, she looked up from the book and smiled when she saw Methos entering the dojo. She went to the office door to meet him, but her smile faded when she noticed how out of breath and shaken he was. Paler than usual, too. Something had happened, she was sure of it.

"Methos?" she inquired, letting that one word convey everything else she wanted to ask -- was he okay, had something happened? Was it Koren? If it was... she wasn't confident Methos could take him. Hell, she wasn't even confident she could take him, but at least she was in better shape to do it than Methos.

Methos shook his head. "Something unexpected has come up..."

"Yeah, tell me about it," Danae answered, eyeing him for a moment. Something was up; she knew because Methos was acting enigmatic. "You, ah, wouldn't happen to know an Immortal by the name of Koren, would you?" she asked, testing the waters.

"Koren?" Methos repeated, choking a little when Danae picked up another book from her desk and showed a picture of a in western garb.

"Yeah," Danae answered. "Do you know him?" It might have been unlikely that Methos knew him, but the look he got in his eyes when he saw the old tin type photo was disconcerting. "Methos?"

Methos took a deep breath, and Danae could have sworn an answer was coming when her phone rang. It was Joe, telling her that if she came on over to the bar, he had a few things for her, regarding her 'friend.'

"Sure, Joe," she said into the phone. "I'll be right there." Hanging up, she turned to Methos. "That was Joe. Wanna come with me?"

"Nah, you go," Methos told her. "Like I said, something came up and... I'll catch up to you later."

What he did next, however, came as a shock. Methos kissed her good-bye. That wasn't normal for them. Methos was affectionate -- when he wanted to be -- but always played the loveable ass because he could. But this... pulling her into a crushing embrace and kissing her in such a way that made her toes curl and her heart pound in her chest... was different for him. Not that she minded the pleasure which coursed through her at his touch. On the contrary, she liked it a lot, and would not have minded indulging a little had she not told Joe she's right over.

When the kissed ended, she couldn't help but lean in, resting her forehead against his until her breathing returned to normal. "What was that for?" she asked softly.

"No reason." Methos shrugged and kissed the tip of her nose. "You'd better not keep Joe waiting," he said.

Danae studied her lover carefully. He was hiding something, but five thousand years of masking his entire life had made him just good enough that she couldn't tell what it was when she looked into his eyes.

"Right..." she answered and kissed his cheek. "Why don't you stick around?" she suggested. "Go upstairs, make yourself comfortable. When I get back from Joe's, I'll cook something and we can pick up this conversation... " Here she initiated a kiss as deep and passionate as the one he'd given her. "where we left off."


End file.
